


I Can See The Man That I Fell For Fighting

by CouldntBeDamned



Series: I Feel the Love, And I Feel it Burn [3]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, But It Means Well, Cloak is a Snitch, Domestic Discipline, Honestly this is a lot softer and sweeter than you think, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Spanking, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter Parker is of legal age, Standing in the Corner, Stephen Strange Believes in Aftercare, Stephen Strange Gets a Hug, Stephen Strange Needs a Hug, writing lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27431014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CouldntBeDamned/pseuds/CouldntBeDamned
Summary: It was supposed to be a quick in and out job.  Just into the study to grab his book he’d left in there by accident the night before, and then out before Stephen even knew he was up and about.  Harmless.It wasn’t his fault that Cloak decided it needed to follow him around like some overly nosy puppy.  Or that Cloak decided it needed to join him in the study as he looked for his book.  Or that Cloak had decided to apparently “guard” something in the study in way that just screamed suspicious and naturally piqued Peter’s curiosity.In and out, no harm done.But when it became clear that Peter was overstaying his welcome in the space, Cloak had also felt the need to snitch.He’d really,reallyfucked up.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Stephen Strange
Series: I Feel the Love, And I Feel it Burn [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987168
Comments: 9
Kudos: 75





	I Can See The Man That I Fell For Fighting

**  
  
**

**I Can See The Man That I Fell For Fighting**

* * *

Okay. He decided to break one of the rules. He understood that. He did.

But, in his defense, it was supposed to be a quick in and out job. Just into the study to grab his book he’d left in there by accident the night before, and then out before Stephen even knew he was up and about. Harmless.

It wasn’t his fault that Cloak decided it needed to follow him around like some overly nosy puppy. Or that Cloak decided it needed to join him in the study as he looked for his book. Or that Cloak had decided to apparently “guard” something in the study in way that just screamed suspicious and naturally piqued Peter’s curiosity.

In and out, no harm done.

But when it became clear that Peter was overstaying his welcome in the space, Cloak had also felt the need to snitch. And damn, could that thing move fast!

Peter had seen his book on a shelf in one of the many bookcases, right next to some ornate box. He wasn’t sure why he found the box so fascinating. Or why his hand kept missing his book when he reached to grab it, as if it would rather touch the box instead.

The last thing he remembered was reaching out to stroke the box, to see if it _felt_ as smooth and soothing as it looked, when a familiar wall of mirror-like shards materialized around him before he could actually touch it. He pulled his hand back instantly, spun around to see Stephen, looking angrier than Peter had ever seen him.

He’d really, _really_ fucked up.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Stephen didn’t yell, his voice was far too calm.

“I know I’m not supposed to be in here without you, but I was just trying to get my book! That’s all!” Peter explained.

“And this couldn’t wait?” Stephen asked, gently but purposefully ushering him out of the mirror-lined study and into the hall before bringing them both out of the protective dimension. When he closed the door, he did something to the doorknob that involved some glowing and turned back to face Peter.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Peter said, trying to make his case. “You almost never get to sleep in.”

“And the fact that I was still asleep meant it was okay for you to disobey me and enter my study unaccompanied and without my permission?”

“Well, no, but I was just going to be in there for a minute!”

“I don’t recall setting a grace period for that rule,” Stephen said.

“And you didn’t,” Peter agreed. “But I just wanted to grab my book!”

“I don’t recall writing in a ‘Peter can grab something he misplaced’ clause, either.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Peter knew he was in for it. He knew something had been off with that box - otherwise Stephen wouldn’t have sent him into the Mirror Dimension. “I should have just waited for you to wake up and ask if I could go in and get it. Or ask if you could get it for me.”

“Yes, you should have,” Stephen said. He sighed and checked his watch. “I’m going to fix breakfast,” he said. “And you’re going to stand in the corner until I call you in to eat.”

Peter opened his mouth to argue and then shut it when he saw the warning look Stephen gave him.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Thank you. Corner, now.”

Defeated, Peter made his way to the living room where his corner was located. Cloak followed him as if to make sure that he’d do as he was told.

Stephen busied himself making breakfast. It wasn’t anything fancy, just some scrambled eggs with hash browns and some maple breakfast sausage. While he worked, he thought over the events that had already happened that morning, when he’d been woken up by a frantic Cloak who’d led him to the study. There he’d found Peter perilously close to touching the Arc of Aasiut. Spider-enhanced health or no, touching it would have killed him. After he’d brought them both into the Mirror Dimension, he’d had to fight himself to keep from yelling at Peter in that moment.

Peter had only seen him truly angry enough to yell once, and even though it hadn’t in any way been directed at him (Stephen had verbally eviscerated Nick Fury and Maria Hill after Peter had told him about their little stunt with the Skrulls while he had still been in high school), it had truly scared him and he’d pulled away from Stephen for a week before admitting so. Stephen had promised to never yell at him, and he wasn’t about to break that promise.

In reality, it wasn’t as if there were many rules between them, as part of the domestic discipline dynamic they’d entered into. There were expectations he had of Peter and there were expectations Peter had of him - like a lot of relationships. All agreed upon, and they could always discuss alterations if something changed - like a lot of relationships. Theirs just happened to include punishments for breaking those rules and expectations as well. Not the most mainstream dynamic, but it was one that worked very well for them.

Peter, however, had a tendency to ignore or break rules in order to get something done faster, or in an attempt to ‘not bother’ Stephen. It was something they still encountered from time to time, Peter’s worry that he was a bother to Stephen. He’d gotten better - _they_ had gotten better. (Stephen assumed responsibility for some of it - it took two to make things work.) And yet there were still occasions when Peter would use the excuse of ‘not wanting to bother Stephen’ to justify his disobedience.

He’d used the time spent plating the food to consider punishment. Corner Time in the beginning was standard as it gave Peter a chance to reflect and steady himself. Stephen knew he’d be using the paddle at the end of it all, since Peter had endangered himself and not putting himself in harm’s way needlessly was one of the two most important rules they had. But something, he felt, was missing. Something else to drive home the point that the rules they had in place - which they’d both spent considerable time drawing up and agreeing upon - were in place for a reason. Washing Peter’s mouth out with that special soap wouldn’t make any sense, since Peter hadn’t back-talked or lied or caused another stir swearing while fighting as Spider-Man. He pondered, and then just as he’d called for Peter, it came to him.

“Peter, breakfast is ready!” he called.

Peter tried to put on a strong front when he walked into the kitchen, like he hadn’t spent the past fifteen minutes crying and berating himself for what he’d done. Corner Time did that to him - made him think about his actions and reasoning behind them. It annoyed him sometimes, the fact that he was almost never in the right of it. He had been, once or twice, but his snapping at Stephen had basically cancelled that right out.

“Have a seat,” Stephen said. “What would you like to drink?”

“Orange juice,” he answered. Apple juice was too sweet so early in the morning and Stephen was strict about his coffee intake.

Stephen returned with a glass of orange juice for them both and sat across from Peter.

They didn’t discuss discipline during dinner. It was a rule they added on not long after they started. Neither of them cared to have what was supposed to be a relaxing and enjoyable time ruined, so some topics were declared off limits.

“Have you spoken with your aunt recently?” Stephen asked him.

“Yeah. She’s really looking forward to her cruise next week with Happy.”

“I’m glad she’s getting a well-deserved break. Is there anything she needs before they leave?”

Peter, mouth full of eggs, shook his head. When he swallowed he said, “No, she just wanted to know if I could check on the place every other day while they’re gone.”

“Did you give her an answer?” Stephen asked.

“I said that I probably should be able to after classes end for the day, but that I wanted to run it by you.”

“That should be fine,” Stephen said with a shrug. “As long as you’re not cutting class to do it and let me know if you’re running late so that I don’t worry.”

“I’ll let her know today.”

Nervous as he was about what would be coming after breakfast, Peter enjoyed the food. Stephen was a pretty good cook, especially with breakfast. He’d instructed Peter to not leave for school without either sitting down to eat or having something to eat on the way to class. Sometimes he even sent food through a portal to make sure Peter could follow that rule.

He was on his third helping of eggs and sixth sausage patty when he knew he couldn’t draw breakfast out any longer. Stephen had finished before him, as usual. And thankfully, Stephen never rushed him, just sat patiently and talked with him until he was done.

“I’m going to take care of some things in the library for a bit,” Stephen told him while he was clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. “When you’re finished here, I’d like for you to go back to the corner and stand there until I come and get you. Understand?”

Swallowing, Peter nodded. “Yeah.”

As much as Peter wanted to procrastinate on the clean-up, he knew better. Procrastination would lead to either another punishment or make the upcoming one worse. Being thorough was one thing; drawing it out to lessen his Corner Time was another.

Far sooner than he wanted, he was back in his corner, staring at nothing but stupid, boring beige paint. There were no marks, no distinguishing spots, nothing of interest for him to study and occupy his mind. _That’s the point,_ he reminded himself. _You’re supposed to stand here and think about what you’ve done, you moron._

Peter winced, glad that Stephen had promised to never read his mind without his express consent. He wasn’t supposed to disrespect himself, either, and if Stephen heard him say something like that aloud, he’d be getting his mouth washed out with soap again for sure. He shuddered at the memory of the taste. _Taste-free soap, my ass,_ he thought.

So instead he forced himself not to fidget and stand obediently so he could properly reflect on what he’d done and why he was in trouble.

 _Didn’t get Stephen’s permission to go into his study._ That was one of the sub-rules under rule number two. _I was in there by myself, and I’m not sure if Stephen counts Cloak as a person. I need to ask him that._ Also part of the sub-rule under rule number two.

He mentally talked his way through his morning and came to the conclusion that there was no justifiable reason for him to disobey Stephen and go into the study alone, without permission. He did consider making the argument that it should have been locked if it was that important to Stephen, but he knew it was a weak argument, considering that a certain amount of respect and control was expected on Peter’s part.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, only knew that he’d rehearsed what he’d say to Stephen loads of times. He day-dreamed that it would be clever enough to get him out of the session with The Paddle that he knew was coming. (It was never clever enough, and Stephen didn’t appreciate his efforts to weasel his way out of punishments.)

It was hell, just standing and waiting. It sucked to have nothing to do but think about what he’d done and what consequences he’d have to face as a result. Okay, it wasn’t hell, just a bummer, because he _hated_ disappointing Stephen or causing him worry. 

Stephen was one of the best things in his life, right up there with Aunt May and being Spider-Man. From the time they’d met on that space donut thing up until Peter had finally worked up the courage to kiss him before he went back to college from fall break his freshman year, Stephen had been a supportive and friendly figure. After they’d kissed… Stephen had become much, much more. Stephen became Peter’s partner, lover, and confidant. No one else supported Peter or listened to him the way Stephen did. No one else made Peter feel as safe, as special, as loved, as Stephen did.

And Peter, stupidly, had given Stephen a reason to be disappointed in him and lose trust in him.

He sniffed, annoyed that he could feel tears threatening.

He’d already cried once and since he _knew_ The Paddle was coming and therefore, he would be crying then, he didn’t want to cry now.

But he felt terrible.

“Peter?”

Peter looked behind him to see Stephen’s astral form in the doorway. “Come to the library, please. I have something for you.”

Peter was confused as to why Stephen wanted him in the library. Any spanking happened in Stephen’s study, with Peter over Stephen’s knee. Plus, Stephen had had that tone that let Peter know something was up and he would need to tread carefully. So, he didn’t draw the walk out, but he wasn’t exactly skipping with joy, either.

When he got to the library and walked to the back (it was so much bigger on the inside), Stephen was waiting patiently by one of the large tables. On the table was a college-ruled notebook and a simple fine-point, blue gel pen. Yes, he was lost.

“Stephen, what’s the notebook and pen for?” 

“They’re for you to use while you write lines. You’ll be writing ‘I will not enter Stephen’s study without permission.’ two hundred times. You’ll bring them to me when you’re finished, and I’ll expect to be able to read them as well.” He looked at Peter, face impassive.

“Seriously?” Peter knew that Stephen was upset that Peter had been in his study alone and without permission. And yes, he agreed that Stephen was right to be upset. But this? Lines like he was in elementary school again?

“Yes, I’m serious. I’ve made it very clear that you’re not allowed in my study without my permission, let alone without me. I don’t make this rule to shut you out or be unreasonable. There are dangerous artifacts and relics in my study, Peter, things that could kill you instantly or draw your death out for agonizing years. Putting yourself at risk just because you’re too impatient to ask if you can retrieve something is unacceptable."

“But writing lines? That’s elementary school stuff.” Rules be damned - he wasn’t a kid!

“Really? You were the one sneaking around like a disobedient little schoolboy.“ He pointed to the table. ”Lines, two hundred. Then we’ll talk more."

With a heavy sigh, Peter sat at the table. He picked up the pen and began to write. Not complying would just lead to another session over Stephen’s knee. Maybe even getting grounded. He didn’t want that experience again.

_I will not enter Stephen’s study without permission._

Stephen had been _nice_ enough to write the lesson at the top of the page.

_I will not enter Stephen’s study without permission._

_I will not enter Stephen’s study without permission._

_I will not enter Stephen’s study without permission._

He supposed it could have been worse. At least it wasn’t the soap. Stephen was annoyingly fair about the punishment being fit to the crime. Still. Writing lines. Something he hadn’t had to do since he was in third grade and called Teddy Dweyer gross for wiping his snotty hands all over their shared desk instead of asking to go to the restroom to wash them. (Had it been a mean thing to say? Yes. But it had also been true.)

Peter wrote one hundred, twenty-one of the lines when a little fit of irritation gripped him. He wrote _This is so stupid._ on the next line. He knew it was a mistake almost as soon as he did it. But it was also in pen. He banged his head on the table once or twice and scribbled the offending line out. Hoping that Stephen wouldn’t pitch too much of a fuss, he continued on with the rest of them.

When Peter was done - adding an extra line in hopes of making up for his slip - a little over six pages of the notebook were filled with the message _I will not enter Stephen’s study without permission._

Shaking his head, he stood, grabbed the notebook and pen, and made his way to Stephen’s study.

He knocked, waited for Stephen to tell him it was okay to go in.

“Come in.”

Well, it was going to happen either way, Peter thought. No sense in dragging it out.

Stephen was behind his desk, reading a book that looked older than both of them, combined and doubled. “You can put the notebook on the desk,” Stephen said. “And the corner over there-” Stephen pointed to the empty corner of his study to the right behind his desk. “Is free.”

“ _More_ Corner Time?” Peter asked incredulously. “Really?”

“You’re not making this any easier on yourself,” Stephen told him evenly. “I’m not finished with my work, so until I am, please go and stand in the corner. When I’m finished, we’ll get started.”

Peter dropped the notebook on Stephen’s desk with more force than was needed and got a swat on the ass for his attitude as he moved past Stephen to get to the corner.

At least the corner in the study was a bit more interesting than the beige one. The wood was nice to look at, Peter decided. He liked the warm color, the rings the wood had. And it wasn’t beige. But unlike his corner, in the living room, there wasn’t a sense of grounding. It was harder to gather his thoughts, staring at the wood.

He missed _his_ corner, he realized.

It wasn’t too long before he heard the sound of Stephen putting his book down, and picking up (he hoped) the notebook. Pages were flipped and at one point, he heard Stephen let out a little “Hmm” sound. Probably the line he’d scribbled out. Fuck. More flipping. Then, the notebook being set on the table.

“Come here, please.”

Peter turned around, grateful to be away from the corner that didn’t radiate “safe” the way his did. He hugged himself as he stood in front of the desk.

“Peter?” Stephen looked concerned, not upset with him. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t know how to explain it. But he tried. “That’s not my corner,” he said. “It’s… it’s different. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Okay,” Stephen said. “Is it different enough that you don’t want to stand there again?”

Peter gave it some thought. “It’s distracting. If you want me to reflect and everything, then I don’t think standing there will help. If you want me to be uncomfortable, then it’s fine, I guess.”

“Thanks for telling me,” Stephen said. “We’ll stay away from this corner from now on, unless you ever want to stand there.”

Peter was both relieved and upset. He wasn’t upset with Stephen, but with himself. Stephen was so stupidly fair about everything, and there he was, Peter Parker, breaking rules that were put in place with nothing but his - their - best interests at heart.

“I’d forgotten how nice your penmanship is,” Stephen said.

Peter bit back the “Not much of a compliment, coming from a guy with a doctor’s scrawl.” that wanted to bust out. He was in enough trouble as it was and the last thing he needed to do was smart off.

“And you have some snarky retort you’re biting back, don’t you?” Stephen raised a knowing eyebrow.

Peter nodded.

“You’ll have to tell me later. But for now, I see you had a scribble in the middle of the lines you wrote. Was it a misspelling or something else?”

“Technically it _was_ a misspelling.”

“Peter.”

Oh, he knew that tone.

“I got annoyed and I wrote something else,” Peter admitted. “But I scribbled it out almost as soon as I did it! And then I kept going! I even wrote an extra one!”

“I see,” Stephen said. “May I ask what you wrote?”

Peter hadn’t been the smartest guy in the world that day, but he was still smart enough to realize that it wasn’t a request.

“I uh, I wrote ‘This is so stupid.’,” he admitted. “I _know_ it was bad and that I shouldn’t have done it.”

“But you were annoyed.”

“Yeah.” He looked away, not wanting to meet Stephen’s steady gaze. “I’m allowed to feel things, aren’t I?”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d watch your tone.”

He winced. “Sorry.”

“You’re always allowed to feel things. I don’t even fault you for feeling annoyed or upset when you’re being punished, I would imagine it’s natural to feel that way.” Stephen walked around the desk to stand in front of him and leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “But I can’t help but wonder if I’m the source of those feelings, along with the punishment, or if the source is you yourself.”

Peter opened his mouth to respond and then closed it. Considered. Was he really upset with Stephen while he was writing, and the writing itself? He wanted to say yes, to make himself feel better. But… he couldn’t. Because he _wasn’t_ upset and annoyed at Stephen. He was feeling that way about himself. Damn it why did Stephen always have to be right?

“Me,” he admitted. “I was - _am_ \- upset at myself. I’m stupid and I _did_ something really stupid and I shouldn’t have.”

“Peter,” Stephen said sharply, cutting into his self-pity. “You know I don’t like it when you talk about yourself that way. You’re _not_ stupid.”

“Right, sorry.”

When Stephen didn’t say anything else, Peter decided to ask the burning question. “Am I in trouble for it? The scribbled thing?”

“No,” Stephen decided.

_Yes._

“So… what now?” he asked.

“Now, you’re going to get the paddle and then we’ll get started.”

He bit back a groan. Every time The Paddle was used, it was him who had to get it from the cabinet drawer. He knew it was some kind of re-enforcing the rules thing, but knowing that didn’t make him feel any better. 

The Paddle was heavy and solid in his hands as he retrieved it. It wasn’t heavy in the physical sense, since he was Spider-Man and super strong, but emotionally it weighed a ton. Black walnut, drilled with twelve holes, and varnished to a smooth gleam, The Paddle had lit up his ass more than a few times since he and Stephen had entered into their dynamic.

Dutifully, he walked over to the two-seater where Stephen was sitting. He gave The Paddle to Stephen and stood back.

“You scared me today,” Stephen said, looking up at him. “I nearly lost you, would have if I hadn’t brought us both into the Mirror Dimension. One touch to that artifact and I would be planning your funeral.”

Peter swallowed heavily. His chest felt tight, almost like he was trembling madly inside. He hadn’t known it was that bad.

“I don’t limit your access to this room to be mean or to hide anything from you. I do it because sometimes I’m going to have things in here because of my work as the Sorcerer Supreme that _will_ kill you. Many relics and artifacts of the Mystic Arts are dangerous and difficult to contain. And some, like the Arc of Aasiut, are very seductive to the untrained eye.”

“I- it felt like it was calling to me,” Peter said weakly. How had he not realized? How had his senses not gone haywire?

“It was. It’s what it does. A single touch without first making an offering to Aasiut will kill the person who touches it.”

“Well, it seems stupid to keep death boxes in your study,” Peter huffed out. Getting angry made it easier to keep the tears away.

“A study which you’re not allowed to be in without my permission,” Stephen reminded him. His tone was cool and disappointed and Peter nearly broke. “I had hoped that I wouldn’t need to resort to keeping this room locked. However, in light of today’s events, I realize I’ll have to.”

Peter sucked in a breath.

Stephen didn’t like locking doors. He’d told Peter early on in their relationship that he’d grown up in a house with multiple doors that were locked, and it had made him feel as if he was forever under scrutiny and untrusted. Even though Peter had a room he could use if he didn’t feel like sleeping with Stephen, he’d been asked to not lock the door, if possible.

But now Stephen was going to start locking his study, because Peter hadn’t had the self-control to stay out of there without permission.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know how you feel about locked doors.”

“I can’t lose you,” Stephen said. “If it’s a choice between locking up my study or leaving it unlocked and risk something in here hurting you, then I’ll lock it every time. It’s an easy choice.”

The first tear slipped and began to run down his cheek. “But it’s not one you should have to make.”

“Maybe,” Stephen allowed. “But I can’t leave this up to chance, not when it’s a matter of your safety. I don’t think I could survive losing you, Peter. I really don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said. His sniffles were loud as he tried to get himself under control. “Stephen I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” Stephen said. “We’ll get through this, we always do.” He motioned to Peter’s pants. “Let’s get started.”

Peter gave a weak nod and unbuttoned and zipped his jeans. He pulled them down, along with his boxers, so that they fell around his ankles. When Stephen shifted his legs; he moved to lay over one of the strong thighs, his bare ass easily accessible for what was coming. Stephen’s other leg hooked around both of his, keeping them securely in place. Stephen made some minor adjustments to Peter’s position which he didn’t fight. Stephen was very, very serious about Peter’s safety when he was being spanked. He also traced a familiar rune on Peter’s backside, temporarily muting his healing ability.

“Do you understand why you’re being punished?”

“Because I came in here this morning without permission,” Peter answered.

“And?”

“A-and you said I almost died because of that box thing. And dying is definitely against the rules.” _Why_ couldn’t he keep his mouth shut?

“Peter.”

“Sorry,” Peter said hastily. But he didn’t get a swat for it, so maybe Stephen knew it was just him making light because otherwise he’d be a useless, nervous wreck.

“I’m starting with my hand,” Stephen told him. “Then I’ll use the paddle, and this will all be over.”

“Do I need to count?” Peter asked. He usually didn’t but he wanted to make sure.

“No, I think you’ve counted enough today. Now, hold still.”

It was a relief to know that the end was in sight. Peter just had to get through his spanking and then everything would be right again. He _needed_ it, he realized.

The first slap of Stephen’s powerful hand against his bare ass was always jolting. Even so, Peter kept still and braced himself.

His healing factor muted for the time being, Peter felt every sharp blow down to his core. He’d been spanked a lot since they started their dynamic and he’d yet to build up a tolerance. It _hurt_ every single time.

Before long he was crying in earnest, loud sobs instead of just silent tears. There was no point in holding it all in, he’d learned. This - the spanking - was almost like a purge or a cleanse in some ways. Giving into that only helped him in the long run. He _needed_ it.

With every hard spank delivered, Peter cried harder. Over and over he sobbed out how sorry he was. He begged Stephen to stop.

Stephen didn’t stop.

His ass was on fire and growing hotter and he was exhausted from crying and dealing with the emotions that had been swirling around in him since Stephen had caught him in there. It was all so overwhelming, and it just made him cry harder. One spank was dangerously close to his sit spot and he nearly bit his lip.

Then scarred hands were gently running over his ass.

“First part is done,” Stephen said.

“I-I have a q-question,” Peter said, trying to steady himself.

“Yes?”

“Can I have something t-to bite o-on? Almost bit my lip.”

Stephen helped him upright and studied his mouth. Then he conjured a mouth guard and when Peter put it in, it formed to his mouth perfectly.

“Will that work?”

Peter nodded, though he could feel drool starting to gather already.

“Good. Back in place, please.”

Peter wasn’t nearly as steady this time as he moved back into position, but he got settled. Stephen’s leg returned to lock his legs when Peter was bent over properly. And, because Peter had a bad habit of reaching behind to try and protect his ass when The Paddle was used, Stephen went a step further and restrained his free arm.

“We’re almost done,” Stephen said, grabbing The Paddle. “Remember, stay still.”

When The Paddle came down on his ass, Peter screamed around the mouth guard. Pain radiated through him, but Stephen held him steady. Even doling out a punishment, Stephen was there for him, grounding him.

Peter sobbed, yelled, and made a drooling, snotting mess of himself as Stephen continued. Every so often, a whistling sweep of The Paddle led to a sharp crack against his ass. The Paddle didn’t just sting his skin like a swarm of hornets, it sent the pain deep into his muscles, spread into his legs. The fire built in that short time before another blow came down and started it all over again.

Blow after blow was landed on Peter’s ass, never in the same spot one after another.

He took every one.

Sobs had turned to weak, pathetic sniffles by the time Stephen landed the signaling two on his sit spots and then the final ten on his cheeks.

“It’s done now,” he was told.

Gently, Peter was helped upright. Stephen was always slow but deliberate about it, not wanting Peter to experience a head rush. He was careful as he helped Peter shuck his pants completely and straddle him. He twisted so they could lean back on the small sofa, Peter wrapped around him, still sniffling.

“Shhh,” Stephen soothed. “It’s done, you’re okay, Peter. I forgive you, Darling, I’ll always forgive you.”

His hands slid up under Peter’s shirt and began rubbing up and down, in small patterns, large patterns. Peter continued to cry as Stephen held him, comforted him.

“Get it all out, Peter. Let all the bad feelings leave you.” A kiss on his head. “You’ve been so brave, so good for me.”

“’m ahht,” Peter whispered around his mouth guard before pushing it out. “I’m not.”

“Shhh, of course you are,” Stephen said, kissing his head again. He held Peter tighter, continued to rub his back. “You’re the most precious and wonderful thing in my life.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, face pressed into the curve of Stephen’s neck and shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are, and I’ve forgiven you. It’s done now. We’re past it.”

Slowly, with Stephen’s tender care, Peter came back to himself. He was exhausted, like his emotions had been scraped raw and exposed to open air. More than that, he could feel how all of the tension that had settled on him the moment he first stole into Stephen’s study that morning was now gone from his body and mind. He was perfectly relaxed in Stephen’s arms, wrapped around him. His ass still throbbed, but the relief at knowing he was done and that they were okay again helped him to filter out the pain.

“There you are,” Stephen said warmly. His hands had to be so sore and tired from the punishment he’d delivered, yet he still rubbed Peter’s back and offered what comfort he could. “It took you a while to come back to me.”

“Lots of feelings,” Peter mumbled. “Can I have some water?”

“Of course. Do you want it in here or somewhere else?”

Peter hadn’t thought that far ahead. The itching on his face told him he must look like a wreck with dried tears, snot, and drool. He hadn’t had a chance to shower that morning, either.

“Bathroom?” he asked. “I wanna shower. Get clean.” He pulled back and looked at Stephen’s shirt. “You should probably change your shirt, too. I got you all gross.”

“It’ll keep for now,” Stephen said, reaching back - probably into a portal - and then handing Peter a cool bottle of water. “Slowly now,” he warned.

Nodding, Peter pulled at the nozzle with his teeth to open the bottle and sucked some of it down gratefully before pausing.

“Do you want me to carry you to the bathroom?”

“Yes,” Peter said. “But I can walk. Just let me pull my pants on.”

“If you’re sure,” Stephen allowed, reluctantly letting him up. “Any thoughts on what you want to eat?”

Peter shook his head as he carefully pulled his boxers and pants back on, bewildered. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.”

“Used to what?” Stephen was sitting up himself, massaging his fingers.

“How after everything that happens in here, at the end of it, you still want to take care of me and make me happy.”

“I love you.”

Peter blushed and looked away.

“No, look at me, Peter.” When he did, Stephen continued. “I love you, and I’m always going to. I want you to be happy and I want you to be safe. And no matter how angry, or scared, or disappointed I may feel sometimes when you act out or needlessly put yourself in harm’s way, I’m still going to love you and want to take care of you.”

“After you’ve disciplined me?”

“Even during,” Stephen corrected. “Drink some more water, and I’ll walk with you up to the bathroom. While we walk, you can think about what you want for dinner.”

“Pizza,” Peter decided. “Pepperoni pizza with lots of mushrooms, onion, and garlic.”

Stephen raised his eyes heavenward. “You’re going to be eating a salad, too.”

“Fair enough,” Peter conceded.

To Peter’s surprise, Stephen joined him in the shower. “Believe it or not, I need to hold you as much as you need to hold me, afterwards.” He had Peter turn around and began washing his back. “I _need_ to take care of you after I punish you, if only to remind myself that punishing you isn’t all there is to me.”

“It’s not,” Peter agreed, turning to kiss him. “God, Stephen, it’s not all there is to you. You’re so much more than when you have me over your knee.”

“I don’t enjoy it,” Stephen whispered against his lips. “I don’t like causing you pain. I don’t like seeing you cry in that way. Please tell me you know that.”

He’d never really thought of it from Stephen’s perspective before. But it made sense. Stephen _adored_ him. No one had ever made him feel as cherished, loved, and protected as Stephen did. And while he didn’t really have any basis for comparison outside a rushed and unsatisfying one-night stand with a sophomore girl when he was a freshman, he was very sure that no one would be able to fuck him as good as Stephen, either.

“I know,” Peter told him. “I know it’s not something you get a thrill from.”

“Good,” Stephen said, kissing him. “I’m so glad you understand that.”

Stephen continued to wash Peter. Peter had tried to help, but Stephen had stopped him. “Let me, please. And I’m sure bending around isn’t going to be very pleasant for you right now.”

He was right. Peter wasn’t going to enjoy moving or even sitting for a few days. He let Stephen take care of him.

Stephen washed himself quickly. Or, as quickly as he could with Peter clinging to him. “Channeling your inner octopus?” He lathered his hair up with the shampoo.

“Maybe.” Peter kissed his chest around suds. “I like to hold you, too.”

“Well, you’ll have to let go for at least a little bit so I can dry us off and while we get dressed,” Stephen pointed out, still massaging his head.

“We could just stay naked.”

Stephen looked down at him. “Tempting.” He tipped his head back into the spray to rinse out the shampoo. “But I’m not going to risk scarring the delivery person for life by answering the door naked.”

“Not the Special Delivery they were looking for, for sure.”

Stephen shook his head, amused. “By the way, what was it you wanted to say, back in my study? When I mentioned how nice your writing is?” At Peter’s skeptical look, he added “I’m not going to punish you for it, I’m just curious.”

“I wanted to say that it wasn’t really a compliment because you’re a doctor and your handwriting sucks,” he admitted.

Stephen laughed so hard he had to grab onto the bar they used to hang washcloths to keep steady.

It could have been the hot water or the rush of joy that he felt at making Stephen laugh, but either way, Peter was warmed to his core.

Stephen dashed his hopes for a soda, and insisted they ate their salads at the kitchen table, but he did decide they could enjoy the pizza in the living room. He cut Peter’s into small pieces so he could hand-feed him while they watched a movie.

“I’m not a child,” Peter reminded him, bottle of water in hand.

“No, but I enjoy doing this, so indulge me, please.”

Grumbling, but really quite pleased, Peter did.

He leaned against Stephen on the couch, watching intently as the bad guy pulled off a motorcycle stunt he was pretty sure wasn’t possible according to the laws of physics. Every so often he’d hear Stephen say “open” and he’d obediently open his mouth and be fed a piece of pizza. (If Stephen noticed the pleased little wiggle Peter did every time he was fed, at least he knew better than to embarrass Peter by acknowledging it.) Then he’d drink some water and keep watching.

It was perfect and he felt so lucky that it was his life.

When the movie finished, villain defeated and heroes continuing to give each other shit, Peter helped Stephen clean up the kitchen and wash the dishes. He still held on to Stephen and touched him every chance he got. In turn, Stephen did the same.

Just before bed, Peter was instructed to lay on his front with his boxers pulled down while Stephen rubbed a special balm into his ass and thighs. He’d learned not to fight it, just accept that it was part of the elaborate aftercare rituals Stephen needed to follow. It made Stephen feel better, and Peter, too.

Peter burrowed into Stephen’s side, a satisfied noise escaping when an arm reached around to pull him closer. Stephen pulled the plush blanket up over them and Peter sighed contentedly as he felt warmth surrounding him.

“This is nice,” he said.

“We do this all the time,” Stephen pointed out, amused.

“Yeah, but it’s still nice.”

Stephen kissed his forehead, then his lips. “It is.”

Peter drifted off, feeling very safe and very loved in Stephen’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in a little AU I have in my head where Stephen and Peter have a **consensual and negotiated** domestic discipline dynamic. There are rules and expectations that are agreed upon by the both of them, as well as certain punishments (not sexual in nature) for breaking those rules.
> 
> The title comes from Bailey Tzuke's song _Where You Are_ , which I listened to a lot while writing this.


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